


I'm Trapped Inside and I can't Get Out

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Actor Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3171974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cast of Captain America: the First Avenger is trapped inside the world of the script. How will they escape unharmed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lackluster_lexicon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lackluster_lexicon/gifts).



“How do you feel?” 

“Taller.” 

Admittedly, it was a bit on the unprofessional side to follow up her lines with a glance—okay, a feel—over her co-star, but in Hayley’s defense, it was the first time she’d seen Chris without his shirt on.  She quickly pulled her hand back from his peck and picked up a shirt from the table next to them and handed it to him.  “You look taller.”  Nobody had said ‘cut,’ so she continued with the take.  She let the folds fall open and handed it to him, then waited for the scene to be called. 

Except the odd thing was, that call never came.  The extras continued to laugh and chatter in the background, all happy and congratulating each other on the medical marvel they’d fictitiously achieved.  Chris took the shirt, still panting heavily and covered in sweat.  Well, covered in water vapor and body glitter.

Someone should have said something.  Against professionalism and training, Hayley looked at the camera crew to see what had happened and what was going on.  Except where there had been cameras and lights and about twenty people working and milling about, there was nobody but more celebrating extras.  “Chris,” she whispered.  Had he noticed what she’d just seen? 

But he seemed to be genuinely affected by what he’d supposedly been through and not much in the mood for talking, let alone conspiring in whispers. 

What happened next, Hayley couldn’t have seen coming.  Even though it was scripted, how could she have anticipated the fact that someone—the Nazi spy from the script—would on cue begin to shoot, that he would steal the serum?  It was scripted, sure, but that wasn’t supposed to happen without a break between the filming of the two scenes.  The cameras were set up wrong.  The noise of the gun made her jump and flinch, and reach for the gun at her side, even though it was a prop gun and wouldn’t actually fire in her defense.  “Stop him!”

There was a clamor all around as those in uniform followed the spy out the set door.  Against her better judgment, Hayley joined the rush to follow the men out to the antique shop and the road beyond.

Except, of course, that such a course of action was ridiculous.  The door from the set didn’t lead to the antique shop and certainly didn’t then lead onto the streets of 1943 New York.  They’d meet a door that only opened onto the black room beyond.

An assumption of hers which was quickly revealed to her to be entirely false as the door at the end of the hall opened not only into the very antique shop set which wasn’t supposed to film for days, but into live machine gun bullets. 

Having never been on the wrong side of a gun in her life, Hayley’s first instinct was to lay flat against the ground and pray none hit her.  But she remained upright.  Of course he did.  Peggy Carter was scripted to go out the door and shoot the getaway driver.  Or at least try to. 

Her mind screamed to stop what she was doing and to duck back inside, to save herself.  She knew she wouldn’t be successful—it was scripted that she would miss.  And script be damned, she couldn’t shoot.  In the middle of the road, one bullet after the other from her gun began to hit and miss their targets.  And then the driver turned around.  Peggy’s heroism belied how scared Hayley felt and beneath her calm exterior as she lined up the shot, her heart raced and everything she was felt like ice. 

The car behind her exploded and she felt the heat on her back.  That was supposed to have been a special effect, she knew, added in after the filming.  She turned in astonishment to see that it had actually combusted behind her.  And her turn was met—she was starting to predict these things now—by Chris running into her and pushing her to the ground just as the car sped past them both.

That tackle shouldn’t have hurt.  They’d practiced it, and she’d never scraped her arm or torn her clothes in rehearsal.  But this time, doing it for real, left black and red scrapes up her arm and shoulder.  “I had him!” She shouted at Chris when she only wanted to thank him.  And then he ran off. 

Her scene was over, and the fog that surrounded her head lifted. 

Shakily, Hayley picked herself up and patted herself off, leaving the prop-gun-turned-real where it lay.  Among the others, some looked more dazed than others.  Some milled as if they were confused, as she was, and others were already starting to put the set back together.  If it was still a set after all she’d seen.  She limped back in.  She would be all bruises for tomorrow. 

“Hayley?”  Dominic’s voice  was weak and when she looked at him, he was white. 

“What’s the matter?”   Well, apart from the obvious.  Seeing something like that was easily enough to do some in, no shame about it.

“Stanley’s dead.” 

The pain she’d felt in her side and in the uneasy way her organs seemed to twist against each other was suddenly even worse.  “He’s…?”  Surely there must have been a mistake.  “You mean Dr. Erskine…?”

“He’s dead.  He was shot.  The gun.  There were real bullets.  I have a feeling we’re not on set anymore.”

She nodded and looked about her surroundings.  Clearly it wasn’t a set.  It was a little antique shop.  In Brooklyn.  In 1943.  “No, we’re not.”  And one of them had really died when it happened.  When, somehow, their set came to life.  “Did you feel it too?  The way you couldn’t help but act and react the way you’re supposed to?”  She’d wanted to do anything but actually go through what her character had, and none of it had been her choice to follow the script that closely.

“Yeah, yeah it was…I had to.  Couldn’t do anything else.  I knew it was coming and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

Hayley reached up for her wig to pull it off.  No point in wearing it if they weren’t filming.  But the hair wasn’t, per say, a wig.  It wasn’t hers, and it felt like the wig, but it was most certainly attached.  “So we are, at least for the moment.  Well, our characters.”  She ran her fingers through the pin curls, putting them back in place.

“And when we die in the script, we die in real life.”  There was more urgency in his voice now. 

She caught on to what he was suggesting.  “Sebastian, Chris, Hugo.  They’re in danger if we can’t figure this out and get back home.”  


	2. Chapter 2

On the very first night, they held a panicked meeting.  Among those witness to Project: Rebirth, Hayley, Chris, Dominic, and Tommy had been affected.  Everyone else seemed to always have been here and didn’t respond to their actors’ names.  It wasn’t much later that Natalie made herself known to them, as well.

“We can’t stay here long,” she announced, taking her seat with the rest of them. 

“In this conference room?  I don’t think we’ll be interrupted.”  Tommy looked at the wall clock regardless.  It was nine o’ clock—the very earliest they were all available. 

“No, I mean we don’t have long here in New York. Tomorrow morning we’ll be back in New Jersey and these two,” she pointed at Dominic and Chris, “stay here.” 

“Do you have to?”  Dominic took a sip of his coffee and then dismissed it in distaste.  Chris understood, having made the same mistake earlier. “It would be better if we all stayed together.  Technically, the only one scripted to do anything for weeks is Chris.”

“I have a feeling I really should leave…” Hayley pondered.  “Perhaps I’m not explicitly scripted to, but I feel it’s inevitable that I go.  Don’t you feel it, too?”  

Dominic shook his head and was about to deny it, but the others agreed heartily.  “I do,” Chris remarked.  “I know I’m going on tour and I’m more nervous to be on stage than I have been for years.  I can’t explain it.”  It was like Steve’s feelings were beginning to override his own.

“You’re the only one of us, Dom, who doesn’t have anything, implied or otherwise.”  Tommy leaned forward and leaned heavily on the table, furrowing his eyebrows.  “What are you doing for the next few weeks?”

The civilian shrugged.  “I have no idea.  I have a feeling I’ll be in Italy, but I can’t say when, exactly.” 

“Can we use that to our advantage?”  Natalie proposed the question that had already been on Chris’ mind.  “I mean, the script needs revision if we’re all going to make it out of here.  Unfrozen and in one piece.” 

“We’ll have to, frankly,” Hayley concurred. 

“I have to say, I would rather not freeze to death.”  Silence hung among them for a few chilling seconds.

Tommy broke it.  “Then we’re going to have to learn the rules and figure out if we can change anything.  We’re all getting through this.”  I was obvious that nobody fully believed it, but none of the five was willing to ruin the illusion that they did.  Half-hearted agreement sounded through the conference room and they agreed to each experiment with how much leeway they had.

During the weeks of tour, Chris learned the rules of their confinement.  He knew the script, yet everything he experienced was as new to him as it would have been for Steve.  It was impossible to anticipate a moment, even if he knew the lines ahead of time and felt fresh even though some of the scenes had been rehearsed.  Some had, others hadn’t yet.  Now they never would be. 

Chris quickly found that the only discernable difference between a moment that was in the script and the rest of Steve’s life he had to live was a distinctive feeling he had that he was no longer in control.  On the way to the first show of the USO tour he was clear headed, but as soon as he was behind the stage the fog descended and stayed with him through the first portion of the show.  The feeling came and went for the next few weeks. 

Sometimes he tried to avoid certain people.  He tried to not pick up the baby, but it was handed to him.  He girl in the crowd who flirted with him found him no matter how much he’d tried to avoid her.  And despite his personal comfort on stage, he couldn’t get Steve Rogers to relax and act naturally in front of a crowd. 

There were things he could do, regardless.  When the metaphorical cameras weren’t pointing at him, he could say and do what he wanted, provided that when in front of others they were the sorts of things Steve would also say and do.  He could keep things in his pockets when on camera, as long as they were small enough to be overlooked by the camera.  He could write whatever he wanted on the back of his shield.  That was as much as he could change his destiny.

The tour came to a close in the States and after weeks of biding his time, Chris left for Europe to be reunited with the other cast members, Seb, Hugo, and Toby still excluded.  Though he’d managed the occasional letter to and from the others, and just as those letters had predicted there was no sign that there were any more imprisoned actors.  That made eight of them. 

In the back of his mind, Chris knew that the evening was going to go according to plan, but it took all of Steve’s trust in Howard’s ability to fly to get him into the tiny antique plane with a man who had never flown before the last few weeks.  “Are you sure you can fly this thing under fire?” he asked. 

“Pretty sure.  I was able to fly the last time I tried.” 

Dominic’s assurance wasn’t really enough for Chris, but when evening fell, the inevitability of this moment gripped all three.  For a little while, both Chris and Hayley watched nervously and started at every turbulent bump in the air.  After an hour or so they calmed down.  “You know what you’re doing?  You’ve never killed before.” 

Chris forced a smile, if only to have her top worrying. He knew he’d come out on the other side.  And he knew it would put him through the wringer to get there.  Gently, he pressed his fist to her shoulder, jut enough to sway her where she stood.  “I vaguely remember you putting me through basic.  So I suppose we’ll see if your hard work paid off.” 

Besides, this wasn’t the scene they had to worry about. 

“Do you two need a room, or--?”

“No.”  Chris dropped his hand and felt a very Steve Rogers blush touch his face at being called on his attraction. 

Attraction?  He shot a scowl of confusion to Hayley, who wore a similar expression on her face.  She shook her head. 

“No, we weren’t.” she continued, but mouthed at him, “were we?” 

“I don’t know,” he whispered back.  This was hardly the time for a showmance, unless, of course, they were now genuinely feeling what Peggy and Steve had.  It was while he pondered that the fog of the movie script enveloped the trio. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it took me literally two months to get this out! I hope you all enjoy it!

Natalie stopped typing and put her forehead in her hands.  There had to be a better way of copying than this.  Even with carbon paper, it took forever to ready the documents.  After a moment, the woman next to her, Molly, one of the extras-turned-nameless-faceless-character who populated this fictional world spoke up. 

“Are you feeling alright? Would you like me to get you a glass of water?”

It wasn’t that.  It wasn’t even the fact that Pvt. Lorraine had a job outside of delivering a few lines and kissing Steve Rogers which she now had to perform.  After all, there was still a war to win and the others who genuinely lived in this world could tell when one of them acted like they didn’t belong here. 

“Thanks, Molly, that’s sweet of you—” She was about to refuse the offer of chlorine-treated water that seemed to hurt as much as it revived.  But she stopped herself.  Her bad mood wasn’t due to the water or the work, even.  So in stead she flashed Molly a smile and let her fetch it. 

The heart of it wouldn’t become perfectly evident to her for another few days. 

“I’m written out of the script first.” 

It was the evening after Chris had returned with the half-regiment he’d saved.  She was with Tommy in his underground office.  The anxious feeling that something was swiftly approaching her had been growing lately.  First ambient paranoia, then the very distinct fear that she might soon not make it out of this situation alive. 

“What’s that?” 

“Tomorrow.” She touched a black and white photograph on his wall.  If she had to guess, it was of his wife and their fictional children.  “I’m being written out of the script tomorrow and I don’t know what’s going to happen at that point.” 

It was anyone’s guess.  Whether Natalie would disappear from the story, if she would wake up in her real life.  Or if she would become like the rest of the characters, believing she was a part of this world.  There was no way to know what happened outside of this story, what was happening back home.  If they were still filming, blissfully unaware that there were people dying because of the story line.

Tommy was silent.  Though she supposed there wasn’t much to say to a statement like that.  In some ways it was worse than dying.  At least then, she’d have an idea of what would happen to her. 

All of them would have to face this eventually.  The script only went on for so many pages, and it was now winter.  A few more months and everyone else would be where she was now.  Scrambling for a way to cling to any reality so as not to fall into she knew not what. 

“Do you think Stanley’s really gone?” 

The words hung in the air between them for so long she almost wondered if she’d really spoken them. 

He’d been gone a long time now.  Months.  They’d talked about it briefly, considered its implications, and continued on as if they had to cut their losses and see whom else they could still save. 

“You aren’t going to die tomorrow.” 

Of course their situations were slightly different—Natalie wasn’t going to be shot and she wasn’t going to die.  But she was going to come to an end.  An end more uncertain, in many ways, than a simple death. 

“I know, but do you think he’s gone?  What if he’s waiting for us back on set?  Or…”  His body had been cremated.  She’d not seen it happen, but the way people acted around here, the way they believe that they were in the real world, they wouldn’t think he needed it anymore.  Wouldn’t see a reason to keep it around.

“He didn’t disappear when he died.”  That was a clue as to what would happen.  Something would remain.  And something would go. 

“You’re not going to die tomorrow,” he repeated.  And she sighed and sank down into the chair across from his desk.  “Take the evening.  Do something you enjoy.”  There wasn’t much out here, but anything to keep her mind off tomorrow as something worth doing. 

But morning came.  She rose and went to work as the script demanded.  Resumed her position in the underground building.  And for a few hours, Natalie just tried to engross herself in her work. 

“Excuse me.”  And then she was interrupted by fate. “I’m looking for a Mr. Stark.”

“He's in with Colonel Phillips.  Oh, of course you're welcome to wait. I uh, read about what you did.”  She held up the article from the paper, which she had, in fact, read.    
“Oh, that...yeah.  Well that's, you know...  Just doing what needed to be done.”  He looked as uncomfortable as she felt.    
“Sounded like more than that.  You saved nearly 400 men.”    
“Really, it's not a big deal.”  
“Tell that to their wives.”  
“Uh, I don't think they were all married.”  
“You're a hero.”  
“Well, that...you know.  That..that depends on the definition of...”  
“And the Women of America.  They owe you their thanks.  And um, seeing as they're not here.”  She pulled him by the tie backwards into the shelves-enclosed area where her desk was.  Where they’d  have a hint of privacy, before—  
“Captain!  We're ready for you.  If you're not otherwise occupied.”  They broke apart.  And then the camera turned away.

And for a moment there was nothing.  Natalie found herself disappointed that she was neither released nor extinguished.  She turned back to the desk.  And there the wall was missing  The office she occupied was gone; all the objects which surrounded her, props, and the seemingly endless underground research facility no longer existed.  “Cut!”

Natalie staggered a little, and had to place her hand on the table by her side. 

Back in the real world.  Where she could resume her life as usual.  “Chris?”  If he’d just shot with her, surely he’d be on set.  But he didn’t reply.

And everyone else was still trapped.


End file.
